


Keeping The Fire On

by The_Captain



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bosmers are too skinny for the cold, Cold, Fluff, Gen, Hypothermia, Nords are furnaces, Platonic Werewolf Sandwich, forced cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-16 00:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14152692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Captain/pseuds/The_Captain
Summary: If there was anything that Alinair learned during his time in Skyrim, it was that Nords were absolutely ridiculous. And he really meant that. They could say whatever they wanted about him and other Bosmers, but at least he had the common sense not to go traipsing around in the snow and ice looking for some damned barrow that may or may not have held glory and riches. All this to prove himself to the Companions. Bah.Nords have a natural resistance to the cold. Bosmer do not.





	Keeping The Fire On

If there was anything that Alinair learned during his time in Skyrim, it was that Nords were absolutely ridiculous. And he really meant that. They could say whatever they wanted about him and other Bosmers, but at least  _ he _ had the common sense not to go traipsing around in the snow and ice looking for some damned barrow that may or may not have held glory and riches. All this to prove himself to the Companions. Bah. 

The only thing that was inside that tomb was a pissed off Dragon Priest. And an ungodly amount of skeletons. 

At least he’d gotten a new shout out of the deal. And the mask. 

Maybe Alinair shouldn’t complain so much - he at least did come out on top here - but that didn’t stop him from running his mouth. 

“I can’t believe I let you two talk me into this,” he grumbled, arms crossed over his chest and hugging himself tightly in a fruitless attempt to still the harsh shivers that threatened to wrack through his slim frame. 

At least Farkas had the decency to look sheepish as he spooned a bite of stew up to his mouth. 

“Talk you into it? You seemed pretty excited when you thought there might be one of your word walls down there,” Vilkas scowled.

“And you got the mask,” Farkas pointed out. 

“Who cares about an Oblivion damned mask if I’m going to  _ freeze  _ to death before I can even put it to use!” 

“Eat your stew, whelp,” Varkas barked and Alinair shamelessly bared his sharp teeth in response. 

“Welp… I’ll show you whelp…” he grumbled as he took the bowl and brought it to his lips, sipping carefully at the heat. 

“You’ll be fine,” Vilkas continued, ignoring Alinair’s grumbling. “Barring any unforeseen dragon attacks, we should be safe here for the night. Safe enough to keep the fire going. And it isn’t  _ that _ cold.”

“I can’t feel my  _ fingers _ .” 

“Sit on them.” 

On the other side of the fire, Farkas scoffed. 

“You’re cruel, Vilkas.” Alinair lamented. “Mean and cruel.” 

“And you complain like a milk-drinker.”

Rather than answering, Alinair let his actions speak for him as he gestured rudely at Vilkas, who’s ever present scowl only deepened in response. At least he got a laugh from Farkas. 

“I’m going to sleep. If I die from hypothermia or… or frostbite, you better cary my stiff corpse all the way back to Jorrvaskr. I mean it. And then throw me in the Skyforge. I want a warm burial if I’m going to freeze to death.” 

“Whatever you say,  _ Dragonborn _ .” Vilkas rolled his eyes, but his brother tossed a lopsided smile Alinair’s way. 

The three of them laid out there bedrolls, circling near the fire as close as they dared without risking getting burned. Alinair wasn’t equipped for this. His light armor was hardly warm enough to keep out the bitter chill, and his slight frame made the cold run right through him. At least by the fire he could keep warm enough to get an uneasy rest. 

Grumbling to himself, he curled up as tightly as he could and closed his eyes, hoping for at least a moment of sleep. 

* * *

 

He didn’t want to wake up. He was heavy, and tired, and it was a miracle that he was able to fall asleep in the first place, and he was not about to let whoever was trying to shake him awake ruin that for him. 

But even he couldn’t ignore a slap to the face. 

Alinair jerked, eyes flying open and limbs flailing uselessly as he tried to reach for his sword, but strong arms held his wrists still. “By the nine, stay  _ still  _ Alinair!”

“Wha--?” He tried to speak, but his tongue felt thick in his mouth. He blinked, slowly, so slowly, and saw Farkas’ face uncomfortably close to his own. He tried to lift his arms, to push him away. 

Tried. 

He couldn’t feel his fingers. 

“What --  _ fuck _ …” he murmured, swaying. 

Cold. He couldn’t feel his fucking fingers or his toes, and by the Aedra, the Daedra, and anything else that was listening, gods was he  _ cold _ . 

“He’s freezing.” 

“What the fuck,” Alinair repeated, and he heard Vilkas hum out what sounded like a growl. 

“We told you, the fire went out. Were you listening?” Annoyance. Was Vilkas angry? When wasn’t he… Alinair shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts but all it did was make his brain feel like it was swimming around in his scalp. 

Vilkas growled again, and there was a snapping sound. “I can’t get a gods damned spark!” 

“Let me try, keep him up.” Farkas spoke, releasing his shoulders and Alinair whined at the loss of contact. He didn’t realize how warm the Nord’s hands were until they were gone, and he tried to follow them with his body. 

“We need to get him warm or he’s going to pass out again.” Vilkas said as he gripped Alinair’s shoulder with a firm hand, forcing him to remain upright. “Fucking  _ elves _ .” He spat the word, but it lacked malice. 

If Alinair didn’t know any better, he’d say Vilkas sounded scared. 

“If we don’t- got it!” Farkas cried out in victory as orange sparked from his hands and landed into the pile of kindlings, sparking up a small flame. “Bring him closer!” 

Alinair was being manhandled, quite literally, up and over until he was as close to the fire as he could get without feeling the heat burn at his skin. He still shuddered, though, from the start contrast from before and from the sudden and desperate desire to embrace that warmth and feel it all over. 

Yol. He watched the flames and whined. What he wouldn’t give to be a damned Dumner right now. Then, maybe he could roll right in the fire and let it wrap him up and he’d finally be free of the bitter cold. 

With chattering teeth, Alinair hugged his arms tightly around his chest, looking between the two lycanthropes with a deadly scowl as he slowly came back to his senses. “If I die, Auri-El or, or M-Mara or Hircine or whoever the fuck be damned. I’m not leaving this plane. I’m, I’m ha-haunting you both. Say goodbye to rest in Jorrvaskr because I’ll-” A violent shudder wracked through him and he ended his tirade with a curse. “ _ Fuck _ .” 

“You’re not going to die.” Vilkas deadpanned. 

“Are- are you sure? You Nords forget that we aren’t all gods damned forges, im-im-impervious to the fucking cold. Shit.” He closed his eyes tightly. “I  _ hate Skyrim _ .” 

He pulled himself in, hugging his legs to his chest in an attempt to bring his extremities in. Until the sun came up, he was at the mercy of the fire. He enviously thought of the wolf blood that ran through his companions’ veins. Hate it though they may, he’d kill to be able to transform into a beast with  _ fur _ right about now. Not that the Nords needed it. They were both hairy enough without a transformation. The thought was nearly enough to make him laugh. 

Whatever lighthearted chuckle threatened to bubble out of his chest was stifled the second he felt and entire body’s worth of contact at his left side. 

His copper tinted eyes flew open, head turning stiffly to see Farkas to his left, pressed firmly against him. He’d removed his cold steel, leaving him just in the furs that he wore beneath them, and it took nearly all of Alinair’s willpower not to lean directly into the heat the wolfish Nord radiated. 

Farkas through one strong arm around his shoulders, pulling him directly into him and Alinair nearly sobbed. He was so warm, so, so warm, and in the frozen night of Skyrim’s northern holds, this was exactly what he needed. 

“Vilkas.” From his position pressed so closely to Farkas’ chest, Alinair heard the man’s voice as more of a rumble. 

“No.” 

“ _ Vilkas _ .” 

“Damn you.” 

There was the familiar sound of crunching dirt beneath boots as Vilkas moved back over to them, and then the heavy Nord plopped himself down on Alinair’s right, sandwiching him firmly between both brothers. 

If he wasn’t so desperate for warmth, Alinair would have been mortified. 

And maybe he still was. 

“I’ll kill you both if either of you tell Athis.” 

To his side, Farkas snorted. 

“I-I mean it.” He cursed his stutter. “I’ll shout you off a fucking cliff. I’ve done it to a saber cat before. It’s funny.” 

“Gods, will you shut up?” Vilkas said and Alinair decided that now might not be the best time to test his luck. He was awfully dependant on these two in order to make it through the night. 

That sat that way in silence for what felt like hours, but for what could have only been minutes until in the far horizon, just over the mountain tops, the sky started to grow hints of pink. 

“Thank you,” Alinair spat the words out before he could think about saying them. 

“Don’t mention it.” Vilkas grumbled, and shakily Alinair laughed. 

“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t mention it again.” 

“I can live with that.” 

Beside him, Farkas shifted, leaning out with his left hand to poke at the fire with a long stick. The flames licked upwards, towards the duel moons, and Alinair nearly smiled. 

“...Seriously though, don’t tell Athis.” 

Farkas chuckled. “Don’t worry. We won’t.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Just a silly little thing I put together while I was on the bus today. I couldn't get the thought out of my mind, and thought it was a perfect opportunity to intoduce a new dragonborn. Hope you all liked it!


End file.
